


Break

by payback16



Category: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit RPF
Genre: Angst, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12905931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/payback16/pseuds/payback16
Summary: i don't wanna break all alone | set summer 2017 | this is a work of fiction





	Break

You know, if they were gonna force you to spend 72 hours in this room, they could at least make it more homey. Put a rug down, paint the walls, do something about this horribly unflattering lighting. Of course they weren’t *forcing* you. You’d been told when you checked in that this was completely voluntary and you could check out at anytime. But the look in the admitting nurse’s eyes told you in no uncertain terms that you were not, in fact, free to go anywhere.

But at least you could have visitors. Peter hadn’t come by since dropping you off yesterday. He thought you needed this time to be alone with your thoughts and work through ‘some things.’ If only it was that simple. He also refused to bring the kids to see you. _What purpose would it serve besides to further upset them, Mariska? They keep asking me what’s wrong with Mommy and it’s not like I can tell them._ He hung up on you before you could reply.

Of course Debra, Ali, and Isabel came by this morning, bearing flowers and chocolates and promises that with a little rest you’ll be on the mend. That, hey, maybe this is even a much needed break from the craziness of your life. You do so much for everyone, after all, and maybe this little ‘vacation’ will be good for you, give you some time to yourself. It took everything in you not to scream. Thankfully they didn’t stay long. They didn’t really know how to deal with… your condition. No one did. That’s how you ended up here in the first place.

And you know that the one person you want there more than anything, the only person who knows exactly how to deal with you, what to say, what to do, doesn’t care anymore. You know he’s not coming. You’re not stupid, after all. He didn’t come last time and he won’t come this time either. You’ve spent the last thirty-six hours alternating between sleeping and sobbing silently, hoping the nurses making their rounds won’t hear you.

It’s probably a good thing they took your cell phone away when you checked in. Torturing yourself by reading his hateful messages over and over for 72 hours would only send you further down the rabbit hole. In the nearly twenty years you’ve known each other, he’s never said such vile things to you. And the pictures… It was like he wanted to push you over the edge. Break you.

At first it had just been his usual passive-aggressive tactics. Pictures of Sherman on Instagram. One word answers, when he even bothered to reply. You were used to it whenever he felt like you were “flaunting your joke-of-a-marriage” around town more than usual. Especially since you kept asking for an extension on the fulfillment of a promise you’d made. It’s now been almost eighteen months since the night in Chris’ hotel that you swore to him you’d meet with a lawyer. So you understood why he was upset.

What you didn’t understand was why when he came to New York, he refused to see you. He was only here for a few days, but that wouldn’t have stopped him from dropping by the house to see you and the kids or calling you over to his hotel room for a late night tryst. You’d never admit it, but the whole time he was here, you clutched your phone even tighter than usual and jumped at every little vibration, as if each notification was a matter of life or death.

Rolling over in bed, you pull the covers up to your chin and shut your eyes so tight that black turns to spots of red that dance against your lids. It doesn’t matter, though, because nothing can erase those images from your head for more than a few minutes. Not sleeping for 18 hours straight. Not the two bottles of wine you downed a few nights ago in effort to think about something, anything else. Or just to think about nothing. All those things had succeeding in doing was convincing Peter that this wasn't just a phase and you needed professional help.

The nurse comes in with your dinner and you didn’t even realize it had gotten so late. You can hear the sound of the petite young blonde woman trying to encourage you as she places your tray down on the bedside table, but you can’t make out any of the words she’s saying. All you can think of is that she looks exactly like the women in the selfies Chris sent you, mocking your latest social media posts of you and Peter. If you’d had even the slightest of appetites, it’s gone now.

“Get out.” You don’t raise your voice, couldn’t even if you wanted to, but she still scurries from the room, tail between her legs. A few weeks ago you would have chased after her and apologized, promised that you really didn’t mean to offend her. But the part of you that worries about how other people sees you went missing right around the time you called Julie to say you needed some ‘personal time’ and because you were the star of the fucking show, production halted. But you couldn’t bring yourself to feel even slightly guilty. You knew speculation about this mysterious time off would be running rampant, but for perhaps the first time in your life, you honestly didn’t care what anyone thought.

That had always been Chris’ least favorite thing about you. His first line of attack whenever you fought. _Do you ever do anything because *you* want to do it? Or is everything in your life about the opinions of a bunch of fucking strangers?_ It wasn’t that simple. You and Chris were from two separate worlds and even though he had waded into the pool of Hollywood, he had always kept one foot on land. But you… You were born under the water. This world is all you’ve ever known and appearances are everything. You can just think of the headlines now. _Law and Order: Special Vixen Unit?_

As much as you love your mother, love the memory of her, you’re not oblivious to who she was. A sex symbol, heavy on the sex. Five kids with four different men. Countless high-profile relationships, if you could even call half of them that. Living in her shadow, you knew that walking into any room, people would already have a preconceived notion about you. You didn’t want to be “Jayne Mansfield’s daughter”, you wanted to be Mariska Hargitay.

In truth, you were as much your mother’s daughter as you had always feared. You never should have slept with a married man in the first place. There was no way it could possibly end well and you knew it. But there was something about Chris… He was different. Flirting turned to touching, touching turned to tasting, and tasting turned to fucking. Before you even realized what was happening, you were head over heels in love with him and you had no idea what to do about it.

You’ll never forget the night that he offered to leave his wife for you. Your first reaction had been to vomit. Your second, to cry. But he was so patient and understanding. He sat on the bathroom floor with you for hours while you explained to him that while you loved him, so so much, he couldn’t leave her because of words like “homewrecker,” “slut,” and “just like her mother.”

Now, almost twenty years later, you hate yourself because as much as you love him and need him and even though when he’s anywhere but inside you it feels like a part of you is missing, you still don’t really wish you could go back in time and change your answer. How could you? Just one look at your kids, your foundation, the show, all the things you never would have had if you’d been branded with the labels that your mother could never fight off, reminds you that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. You just wish you could make him understand. From the first moment you saw him in the waiting room of a studio in LA, he’s been the only person who ever truly understood you and you never imagined there would be a time that no longer felt true.

Outside your door, you hear the footsteps of nurses carrying trays full of tiny paper cups with multicolored pills and dinners that don’t require sharp utensils. You can feel your eyelids getting heavy and while you know that all sleep has to offer you is hours of torment and images that will root themselves in your mind, coiling around your every thought, you let yourself succumb to it because the truth is, being awake is so much worse.

* * *

You feel his presence before you even open your eyes and while the fact that some part of the visceral connection you share still seems to be intact comforts you, you’re absolutely terrified to let him know that you’re awake. If he knows you’re no longer asleep, he’s going to want to talk and you know that whatever it is he has to say, it’s not going to be something you want to hear.

He shifts his weight in the chair by your bedside and you can almost feel the energy shift in the room. Taking a measured inhale, careful not to give away your state of consciousness, you breathe in the soft but distinct smell of Chris and it fills you with a sense of home. If you never sit up and open your eyes, maybe you can just stay here in this limbo with him forever.

“Are you gonna pretend to be sleeping all night?” Shit.

You open your eyes, but can’t yet bring yourself to look at him. “I… Sorry. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

“Well then that makes two of us.” So no small talk then.

“Why are you here?” Your fingernails are digging into the skin of your palms. If he’s here to pick up where his last texts left off, to end things with you for good, you swear you’re going to scream so loud it wakes up every last catatonic patient in this damn hospital.

“Peter called.”

“He… what?” It’s a good thing you’re already lying down.

He shakes his head, scoffing in that way he knows you hate, “I couldn’t believe it either. For him to call me-”

“Yeah,” you cut him off, pulling the itchy hospital blanket up to your chin, wishing you could disappear underneath it. You already know and you don’t need to hear him say it. The two of them are practically sworn enemies. Peter would never pick up the phone and ask him to come if he thought that there was even a chance you’d pull through this on your own.

“I came because I care, Mackie.” And even though he’s shaking his head, even though you know he’s tried to fight his love for you, when that nickname falls from his lips, it’s like a glimmer of hope in the darkness. You were scared you bent him so hard that he broke. But he’s still here. And you’re still Mackie. So maybe there’s a chance.

“I… I wasn’t sure. After your messages, I thought... ” If there was ever a time to be vulnerable with him, it’s in this moment. But the lump in your throat is practically choking you.

You didn’t notice he was holding his breath until you hear an exaggerated exhale. He’s scrubbing his hand over his face and you know that when he gets like this, it's best you don't say anything. Saying the wrong thing right now could send him right back out that door and this time, he won’t come back. So you let him ride it out.

To ensure you don’t throw yourself from tenth story, there’s just one window in your room, locked and gated, not that you would be able to contort your body in the right way to fit out of it if you wanted to. There’s no real view to speak of as your room faces the hospital’s opposite wing, but you do notice that the sun has long since set in the summer sky. Glancing over at the clock, you see that it’s way past visiting hours. You wonder how long he’s been here. Why they haven’t kicked him out yet. Then again it is Chris. Surely he could charm his way past all the nurses. He’s never had a problem with that. Nurses, waitresses, background actresses.

When you look back at him, his teeth are gritted and if you had to take a guess at what’s going through his head right now, you’d put your money on how just how much more he’s willing to put up with.

“What do you want from me, Mariska?”

You shake your head gently. “Nothing. I just want you.”

“Bullshit.” He pushes up from his chair and from this angle you’re struck by his size. At six foot and two hundred pounds of pure muscle, he’s massive. It has always been a comfort to you, and an extreme turn on. He’s made you feel safe, protected, like nothing and no one could get to you when he was on top of you or barricading you between his muscular form and the wall. But this time it feels different. He’s towering above you and you’re acutely aware that he could crush you at any time. Not that he’d ever lay a hand on you. But right now he holds the fate of your relationship in his hands and along with that, whether he knows it or not, your entire heart, body, and soul.

“Chris… Please…” You’ve never been one to beg, except in certain instances when he had you hanging on the precipice and only that one word could convince him to let you fall.

“I- I can’t keep doing this, Mariska. I don’t want to.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means something has to change!” You can’t help but flinch when he raises his voice. “Either you leave him… or…”

“Or what?”

He hesitates for a minute. Turning on his feet, he faces out the small window and you know exactly what he’s going to say because he can’t look you in the eye while he does. “Or this is over... For good this time.”

 _For good this time._ The vibrations emanate from your bones, radiating outward, and you wrap your arms protectively around yourself. You want to speak, you have to say something. Anything. Whatever it takes to get him to stay. Because you don’t know how to live without him and while that’s probably not healthy, after almost twenty years, it is what it is.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. He’s looking at you now and it’s the look in his eyes that sends you over the edge, tears slipping down your cheeks. He hasn’t looked at you like that in three years. Like he’s completely given up hope. Like he no longer thinks you’re worth fighting for.

He doesn’t react to your quiet sobs, makes no move to comfort you.

“Baby, I…” You finally choke out despite the boulder in your throat.

“No. Stop. I’m not doing this anymore. I’m tired. I’m tired of being the thing you fit into your schedule whenever you have free time. You think you can just call me up whenever you wanna get fucked and then rush off back to your perfect little life, but I'm done with that.” His words are like knives, taking little pieces of you as they slice across your skin. Is that what he really thinks? That he’s just another check mark on your never-ending to do list. After all these years, how could he not know what he means to you? Even if you’re not able to give him everything he wants. “Are you gonna leave him or not, Mariska?”

“It's not that simple… You-you don’t understand...” You can feel the hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

“No. I don’t,” he says, shaking his head. The pain in his eyes clear to you even through your own.

“Please, Chris. I-I love you.”

“Just not enough.”

You know there’s no way to make him understand. No way to make him see things from your perspective. He’s hurting and you can’t blame him for that. But all the pain, the frustration, the betrayal, and the desperation that has been bubbling up inside you is about to overflow.

“Who are you to talk? Were you thinking about how much you love me when you fucked all those whores?” Anger. Crying and begging haven’t worked and it’s the last arrow in your quiver. But you know he’s just as skilled an archer.

“What the fuck do you care? I don't mean enough to you for you to leave your husband, to be a real couple, so why does it matter who I fuck? I can do whatever- whoever- I want.”

“Stop.”

“The last chick I fucked, let me tell you-”

“I said stop!” You scream, trying to drown out the sound of his words.

“You can’t tell me what to do, I’m not Peter.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you.”

“Why did you even come here?” You feel your vocal cords straining, the cold trail of tears left behind on your cheeks.

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “But I know it was a mistake.” He’s grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair and you look away. You can’t watch him leave you.

His footsteps tell you that he’s made his way across the room and you hear him grab hold of the doorknob. The words fall from your lips before you even have time to think about it. “I’m sorry.” You’re looking down and through the moisture in your eyes everything is a blur. Your fingers are once again toying with the fabric of the hospital blanket that, given how much you’re paying for your stay here, should be much nicer.

“I didn’t come here to fight. I just…”

“I never wanted to hurt you, Chris.” The mattress dips to accommodate his weight as he comes to a seat at the foot of your bed. It’s not much, but it’s something. So you keep talking, keep spilling your guts because what do you have to lose at this point? You may have already lost him, no matter what you say. “When I say how much I love you, I mean it. I love you-- God, more than anything. More than Peter. More than SVU. More than all of it. But this… this is all I can give you. And I’m so sorry for that. Because you do deserve more.”

“Fuck, Rish…” There are tears in his eyes. In case you didn’t already completely loathe yourself.

“You do. You deserve everything and part of me wishes so badly I could be the one to give it to you. But when I realize that means destroying my credibility and tainting all the work the foundation is doing and… hurting my kids… I just. Can’t.” The words just keep coming like an avalanche and since you can’t stop it, you decide to just lay there and let it swallow you whole, bury you six feet under. And you’re surprised at how good it feels, how cathartic. Because you haven’t allowed yourself to be this vulnerable in a long time.  
  
While you’d like to believe that you’ve always been completely open and honest with Chris, the truth is that it’s always scared you how deeply in love with him you are. Because he has the power to hurt you like no one else. So you felt the need to protect yourself. You spent years building a wall around your heart, brick by brick, until one day it was so tall you had no idea how to scale it. And that was never your intention, but self-preservation is an instinct that a life in the spotlight had ingrained in you before you were even conscious of it.

“I-” He starts, but you’re quick to cut him off. You have to get this all out.

“I don’t want to lose you,” You stop, drawing in an uneasy breath. Your throat hurts, your chest hurts, everything hurts. “But I understand if you need to go.”

Chris is quiet and you half expect him to stand up and walk right out the door, not looking back. Hell, maybe he’d even find that blonde nurse on the way out. You’ve set him free after all. It seems like hours before he opens his mouth.

“Okay,” He whispers, his hand reaching for yours.

“Okay.” Your fingers intertwine.

  
  
  
  



End file.
